I Am The Woman.

I am the woman standing in front of the open dryer, crying.

I am the woman trying to sob silently so the children won't hear.

I am the flawed one, the selfish one, the one who doesn't know.

I am the one with a stick-on heat pack, trying to remedy a sore lower back.

I am the woman with a laundry-coated guest room floor. And I am the woman who is somehow, on this stunning, end-of-summer day, looking forward to hermit-ing up to fold it.

I am the woman who doesn't know. Did I already say that?

I am the one who will fall a thousand times, who struggles sometimes to keep standing up.

I am the woman who worries about the images her children will see of her, flashing through their minds, when they're grown. Will I be smiling? Will I be crying? Will they feel safe as they remember? The images I imagine for them are really just the moments of my life.

I am the woman who thinks too much and then not enough.

I am the one who is careless.

Please don't tell me I'm wrong. Please don't say it's okay.

I know it is and I know it isn't.

I am the woman who maybe knows that.